


What It Takes To Survive

by adhddyke



Series: Not Quite A Video Game- Zombie Apocalypse Survivor AU [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: As always not much zombies, Because Bowers gang, Beverly centric, Can't believe I wrote het at the forefront, F/M, Heavily So, Henry and Patrick are Henry and Patrick, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, This series really do be human focused, Unhealthy Relationships, Vic and Reg are good people, Zombie Apocalypse, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adhddyke/pseuds/adhddyke
Summary: Having left the forest, the survivors head towards the nearby town, hoping to find new resources and no zombies- and while there are no zombies, there’s something pretty much as annoying, which is bringing up the past for Beverly: Tartarus, the apocalyptic town run by less pleasant survivors (why can’t they not run into these types?).
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Victor Criss, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Victor Criss/Reginald "Belch" Huggins
Series: Not Quite A Video Game- Zombie Apocalypse Survivor AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	What It Takes To Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh these always take so long to write and then they're not even great. 
> 
> Still, maybe a little because I kind of stan Vic and have been excited to write him into this, this is my favourite one so far! Weird writing a whole Bev POV, but I think it came out okay.
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edit- Just realised this is in past rather than present tense. Sorry if that's confusing if you're reading this series at once. I'm not going to edit any of them because I like how they read in the tenses they're in, but as past tense comes more naturally to me in narrative then the other fics in this series will also probably be in past tense once they're written! Sorry again!

Bev couldn’t help but remember the day she had been shot. It was one of three options when she dreamt- her dad, Bob Gray, or the asshole that her shot her after pretending to be her friend and never explained why. Most likely, he was still out there somewhere, even after five years, because he had been good at surviving, but she hoped bad things had happened to him. Either way, she hadn’t been expecting to encounter him again. It was a big world, and she had no idea where she had been back then or where she was now. 

“What dream was it today?” Ben asked her quietly one morning after Bill had nearly got himself killed at that playground. Their being head towards that town near the forest meant they were on concrete roads, and she hadn’t seen one in forever. Inexplicably it was all making her feel very alive. “If you feel up to sharing.”

“How I got shot,” Bev whispered back, swinging Ben’s hand in her own. Her grass ring was starting to wilt. It had been a couple of months since they all killed Bob Gray, and she was anxious to finally get into a town. There they could find shops, could take a couple of rings to be as properly married as they could be. “I’m glad you saved me.”   
“I’m glad you’ve saved me a thousand times since,” Ben replied. “I’m glad you save me every time you blink or breathe or move.”

“You’re going to make me blush,” Bev said, always afraid of showing her vulnerability, not wanting to admit how much those words meant to her. And truly, such confessions of love were wonders to hear amidst all the horrible things in the world now.

“I like it when you blush,” Ben said, blushing himself.

“Oh, someone’s feeling suave today! Richie declared as he and Eddie overtook the two of them, and the moment was lost. Bev couldn’t tell if she was relieved or annoyed. So she said nothing and just pulled Ben’s arm, encouraging him to move faster so they could overtake Richie and Eddie (who was now playfully yelling at them to ‘piss off’) again. 

As always, with winter approaching terrifyingly fast, the sun set too early. They were hardly far from the abandoned town, but they needed to be there in daylight, not darkness. Towns meant buildings and people, and buildings meant hiding places unseen until it was too late, and people meant zombies, now. So they set up camp in a detached house, overly large. Once it would have belonged to someone rich. There were no zombies inside, no signs of death or struggle. It was no secret to the survivors that some of the wealthier folk had travelled away at the beginning of this all to hide on private islands. Bev hoped that they were dead, anyway. Because it would be what was deserved, having ignored the majority of the public who were being literally consumed by death whilst they sunbathed amongst families and food and flowers. 

“I don’t mind taking watch, still,” Bill was insisting to Eddie. Bev, rolling her eyes fondly, approached to knock him lightly over the head.

“Go to sleep, dumbass,” she told him. “You chill with watch, Eddie?” 

“He’s got me to keep him company!” Richie yelled from where the kitchen was. 

“So that’s me begging you to swap,” Eddie told her. “Stan and Mike already volunteered to take second watch. So go sleep or whatever.”   
“Use protection,” Bev told him. Stan pretended to gag from the sofa where he and Mike were already settling down for the night. She collapsed onto the floor, not bothered much about sleeping there, and stared at the ceiling. Her shoulder ached with phantom pain until Ben noticed her face and gave her a massage.

“You’ve been off these days,” Ben said quietly. Those not taking first watch were sound asleep now, and Richie and Eddie were laughing in the kitchen, so any secrets could go unheard. “I wish you felt okay talking about these things. It’s not weak to be upset or afraid or anything, you know? Or else I’d be your damsel in distress.”

“You are my damsel in distress, silly,” Bev said, smiling. Her smile wavered and dropped when Ben raised his eyebrows at her. “I’ve just got this- this dread, I guess? It’s growing. But we need supplies. It’s getting real fucking cold. So you’d better hug me.” Then Mike grunted from the sofa and tossed a pillow down onto the floor at her, so she shut up and went to sleep, Ben’s arms a comforting and familiar weight around her. 

She dreamt of apologetic eyes and an intense pain and of some library. She dreamt of ‘I have to’ and no explanations. She dreamt of friendship and guns. And she woke up before she was ready to with the sound of an out-of-tune, aged trumpet, finding herself behind bars once more. 

When she jumped awake with that horrible noise, she almost fell into a panic, but regained her self-control quickly enough to glare at the almost exaggeratedly slouched lanky man with terrifyingly glazed eyes on the other side of her cell- because she could tell that’s what wherever she was used to be. It had to be the holding cell of some hick police station. Stan did not avoid the panic, nor did Bill- but everyone fell silent from their panicked yelling and demands once the trumpet was blown again. 

“Hi, gang!” The man said cheerily. “Welcome to Tartarus!” 

"What's tartar sauce?" Richie asked after a tellingly terrified pause, and Bev cursed herself for not being able to think of something brave to say to make the group seem unafraid in that time. 

"Your home. For now," the man told them. "Best make yourselves comfortable."

Behind him stood another man and a woman, both of whom were standing with their shoulders squared and their jaws clenched, a picture of courage and determination- and a lie. Bev could see the terror in their eyes, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. It was a telltale look she'd seen in the mirror enough times to recognise. 

“Peter, Greta,” the man said, turning towards the two now. “These will do. Bring them out to us in a few. Hank will want to see them. You’re safe.” Then he grinned, and all Bev could think of was the Disney version of the Cheshire Cat. When he disappeared, she stepped closer to the edge of the cage, closer examining the two who had apparently brought them here.

“Hey,” she called out to them, planning. “You don’t have to do this, you know?” The two- Peter and Greta- frowned. And so did Ben.

“Bev-” he began, but Bev continued to talk, ignoring him and his concern.

“I can tell you’re scared of that guy. You brought us here- what, to save yourself? We can all escape together. We’ll help you guys. Just let us out of here,” she urged, and watched as Peter and Greta exchanged a look. Then, desperately, she continued. “Come on. It can’t be safe here.”   
“It’s safest here,” Greta snapped in response. “I’ll have to grab something to gag her with once Bowers and his lot are done looking them over, Pete. Or we’ll get rid of her first.”

“Whatever,” Peter shrugged. He was probably impressionable, but already impressed. 

“Don’t leave us here!” Bev shrieked, losing herself a bit. She couldn’t be caged again- wouldn’t be. She thought of Bob Grey, how they had kicked them death like cows. “You’ll fucking regret this!”

“No,” Greta said flatly, “we won’t.” 

“What do you want from us?” Bill, more collected and a stronger leader figure again since the playground, demanded. She envied his resolve, and resolved to step closer to Ben, feeling his warmth. “Are you gonna eat us? Newsflash, someone tried that already. And now he’s dead.”   
“We’ll get out of here, too,” Mike nodded, still at the back of the cage with an exhausted-looking Stan, the two playing with each other’s hands. 

“We’re not barbarians,” Peter said. “We’re not zoms. We don’t eat people.”

“Don’t talk to them!” Greta hissed. “Bowers will tell them whatever he wants them to know. So keep in our place and shut the fuck up. Fetch the chain.” 

“Uh, don’t do that,” Eddie said, backing away towards Mike and Stan. “Not into that.” Sometimes he could be as bad as Richie- scratch that, Bev, thought. He was as bad as Richie, really. 

“You are,” Richie joked nervously. “But only with consent! Which was not given!” Eddie swatted him. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Stan murmured. 

“We’re all fine,” Ben whispered. He was braver now. In some ways Bev missed how it was when they first met five years ago, when she had been the strong one, been needed by him. “We’ll figure this out, just like last time.” 

At any rate, they weren’t figuring out any escape right then, because Peter was putting them into a line, connected to the same chain, their hands quite literally tied. With Greta walking in front of them and Peter behind, the seven were led out of what used to be a prison. Vaguely, from the shapes of the rooftops, Bev recognised them as being in the same town they had been headed towards, and couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

“Nothing’s fucking funny, Bev,” Stan said, his voice almost squeaky. 

“Look where we are,” and her laughter reverted into hiccups and snorts, chaotic and miserable and disbelieving. Then the laughter spread. 

“Shut up,” Greta told them. “Shut up!” 

It seemed that Tartarus had been a town of survivors for a while now. Farms had been planted around the town, and old buildings seemed to have been repurposed into homes, lathered with paint and warning signs. A small group of people seemed to be preparing potatoes, and another group washing clothes. It was almost idyllic, for a post-apocalyptic setting. 

“Is this utopia now?” Ben mumbled sadly from behind Bev. “Is this the ultimate goal, the most ambitious aspiration left?” 

“It’s not a paradise, Ben. It’s a hell,” Bev murmurs back. “I don’t know why yet, but we’ll find out, I’m sure. Every survivor seems to be a demon these days.” 

Soon enough, the seven survivors were led into what was once a theatre of some sort. Probably, some drama school drop-outs put on pantomimes at Christmas every year to either scar or please some children. Maybe there had been one or two concerts here with somewhat unexcited moshpits. Now, there were four chairs done up like thrones on the stage, and moths chewing through the seats of the audience of ghosts. One of the thrones was in the centre of the stage, and far forward. To its right was another throne, slightly further back, and on the left of the middle throne were two more, even further behind- but none were far apart. On one of the thrones to the left sat the man who had woken them up, now leaning forwards, his chin in his long-fingered hands. Next to him on the other throne to the left was a great big man, with soft eyes. In the centre was this Bowers figure, Bev assumed, and she could see why he was in charge, though he seemed younger than the two on the left- and none of them could be much if at all older than her. There was a blaze in his eyes, and a power just in the way he sat. Clearly he was born to be a leader, but she couldn’t imagine Bill sitting in that made-over chair. Then, on the right-

“You!” Bev yelled, jumping forwards, but only toppling over, unable to move because of the weight of the others on the chain. Because on the right of Bowers, with that king’s hand on his leg, was Victor Criss, who had shot her when they were fifteen. Vic was staring right back as Bev grew red with anger.

“Who-” Ben sounded confused. 

“He’s the one who shot me,” Bev tried to get rid of the mad shake in her voice. Anger would not be her weakness, she told herself, trying to steady her breathing. Vic shifted, and Bowers’ grip on him seemed to tighten. 

“There’s some mistake,” the scary lanky one said, laughing. “Vic wouldn’t shoot anyone. He’s too delicate.” Bowers nodded to that. 

“Bold of you to be making accusations against one of mine,” Bowers said, glaring at her. 

“I-” Vic began, but was cut off with a wave of Bowers’ hand. 

“Be quiet, Vic,” Bowers sighed. Vic and the big man shared a look behind the other two. 

“I’m not lying,” Bev spat. 

“I don’t care,” Bowers replied, gritting his teeth. “You lot talk too much. I hope we don’t have to keep you around too long.”

“Can you please just tell us what’s going on?” Mike asked after a moment. When Bev glanced towards him, she saw his eyes fixed on the floor. He was probably going to ramble about the safety of farming again when they got out. His hand in Stan’s seemed to be the only thing keeping either of them in reality.

“Your boyfriend looks like he’s going to pass out,” the lanky one commented. 

“Shut up, Pat,” Bowers said. “I’m sure you’re all aware who you’re talking to.”   
“Not really,” Bill stuttered out, making Pat laugh. “You’re overestimating yourself.” Bowers nodded, and Peter punched him in the gut, making Bill keel over and the other six step forwards defensively. 

“I am Henry Bowers, the second King of Tartarus,” Bowers introduced himself, saying that title slowly, like it was actually something to be proud of, and his name hurriedly, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t part of who he was. “My dad- my father was King before me. But I killed him.” 

“It’s as they say,” the big guy said in a sage tone, “first the worst, second the best.” So he was not especially wise. Richie tried to hide his laugh at that. Bowers seemed embarrassed, almost, seeing that. 

“Don’t speak again until I tell you to, Belch,” Bowers gritted out. 

“Sorry,” the unfortunately named Belch mumbled back.

“I am the King of Tartarus,” Henry reminded the seven, who were staring up at him. 

“This is no kingdom,” Ben said. 

“Yes, it is. Because I rule it and I’m king. Shut the fuck up before I carve my name into you,” Bowers stood from his ‘throne’, releasing Vic’s leg to clench his fists instead. “I am the King of Tartarus! And you are here because you must die for Tartarus to live.” 

“So you are going to eat us,” Richie sounded dumb-founded. 

“Stop talking, Richie,” Eddie begged quietly. “If he carves you I’ll divorce your dumb ass.”

“Oh, I wish we could eat you!” Pat exclaimed. “You’re all so cute and delicious looking! I’ve never eaten someone before. How does it taste, Vic?” Before Vic could say anything- and Bev was glad he couldn’t, because she might’ve killed anyone and everyone to get to kill him if she heard his voice- Henry was blocking their view of the smallest of Tartarus’ royalty. 

“Why does everyone always think we want to eat them?” Bowers complained. Bev didn’t like the sound of that ‘everyone’. It was an assertion of inevitability and hopelessness. “We aren’t going to eat you, losers. But the Zombie God will. Don’t give me those dumb looks- I know you think we’re crazy. But he’s real. He surfaced a couple months back. And when he wants a sacrifice, he sends his zombies to us. And we’re not trying to die. If we don’t give him someone, he’ll send a horde to kill us all. And I’m not dying any time soon. Not like you, if we’re lucky.”

“This is insane,” Bill said. “You can’t actually believe in-” 

“Oh, you’ll believe in him when you see him,” Bowers seemed terrified, now, almost lost in his own fear. Bev only wished he’d piss himself to top it off. “He doesn’t look like the rest of them. His eyes…” He trailed off, staring at nothing, a madman. The seven exchanged a look; they were afraid they knew of a zombie with haunting eyes nearby with a couple of months of unlife to boast to. 

“Well, I think Hank’s about done here,” Pat clapped, standing. “Peter, Greta- take them back to their cell and help make dinner. Think I’ll be wanting a feast today.” Then he walked away, around the back of the stage, Belch trailing off after him with a depressed, lost look in his eye. Vic took Bowers’ hand, urging him to move, and led him away. 

Back in the old police station, Bev and Bill paced around the small space. Ben sat by the bars, staring through them, while Richie lied on the ground, claiming to be napping, with Eddie biting through his nails while sitting at Richie’s feet. Mike and Stan remained the furthest from the bars, their backs against the wall. 

“They have to be talking about Bob Gray,” Bill said. “This is my fault. I should have let you guys stop him from coming back. I was petty- and- and stupid. I’m s-”   
“Please don’t fucking apologise,” Bev said tiredly. 

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here,” Ben said calmly, watching Bev, like he always did, with concern in his eyes, as always. He was too good for her, she knew it. 

“I could convince them I’d be more help alive,” Mike suggested. “I could argue to help with the farming. And then let you guys out while they all slept.”   
“No way,” Stan shook his head. “They’ll figure it out and they’ll kill you.”   
“It’s worth trying,” Mike replied, “if they’re going to kill us anyway.” 

”No,” Stan insisted. 

“Okay,” Mike agreed. “Something else. We’ll think of something else.” Nobody could think of anything else. They all sat around and tried to pretend that didn’t bother them. 

“I know you’re feeling pressure to think of something,” Bev said to Ben. “But there are seven of us. It doesn’t have to fall on you.”   
“I know, Bev. I just want to help more than I can,” Ben sighed. “How are you holding up? You said that man-” Bev tensed up.

“I’m fine.”

It was a shock when Eddie started to sniffle.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that,” he pleaded. 

“Fuck no,” Bill replied. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s our fault,” Richie laughed out, looking at Eddie so neither of them would have to look at anyone else. Bev wanted to grab both of their chins and force them to look at everyone so they could get over that distress. That, or slam their heads together. “We were on watch. I’m shit at watch. I get too easily distracted. I’m such a dumbass.”   
“Don’t put it on yourself, Richie,” Eddie said bitterly. “I got distracted, too.” 

“Because of me,” Richie insisted. “Because I can’t get myself together.”   
“Because of  _ me, _ ” Eddie corrected. “I’m in control of my life. That’s why- this is all my responsibility, too.”   
“It would’ve happened no matter who was on watch,” Mike insisted. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t kidnap us and yourselves.” 

“There’s no use focusing on it now,” Bill added, acting all wise like he wasn’t having the same self-blame difficulties days before. Good for him, Bev supposed. “All we can do now is get out of here. Together. Alive.”   
“I’d like that last bit,” Bev said. 

“We’ll get it,” Ben promised her. Bev hated promises and she hated that she’d learned to believe them when they came from Ben. “We have time. We have until a zombie shows up around here. This area seems pretty empty of them, if the school where Gray got- if that school where Gray last brought his zombies was on the other side of the forest.” 

“It was,” Eddie affirmed, calming down a bit, his head against Richie’s shoulder. 

“Right. So everybody rest. We’re all- we’re all going to struggle tonight, but we’re also all tired,” Ben nodded, convincing himself he was giving the right advice. 

“At least no one has to keep watch,” Mike attempted to joke lightly. But Bev might as well have kept watch, because there was no way she was going to sleep. 

Everybody was asleep when Vic entered the police station, carefully closing the door behind him so it wouldn’t make any noise. Bev’s heart pounded as she watched him approach, but she did not show her fear and move her head away from where it was leaning against the bars. 

“Fuck off,” she whispered instead of crying. “I don’t forgive you, if that’s why you’re here.”   
“I’m sorry anyway,” Vic whispered back. He sounded older now, but he had been barely sixteen the last time they spoke. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think I’d ever get to say that.”   
“You’re clearly pretty good at worming your way into survivor groups,” Bev attacked, her voice still hushed. “What did you have to do, suck their cocks?” 

“I didn’t ask for them to love me. I don’t want them to,” and then Vic sounded a bit younger again, and incredibly miserable. “Though it has its advantages.”   
“You think I pity you?” She did, though she wasn’t sure why yet. 

“I didn’t ask you to,” Vic pointed out. “I know I’m lucky. Peter and Greta and the others- they have to find people like you to survive or else they’ll be handed over. This girl Betty- Henry and Patrick brought her to that thing the first time zombies came after we found it in that house. Me and Reg- Belch- they’ll never let us die. They’ll never let us go.” 

“Bet they’re shit in bed,” Bev told him, and wondered why she was doing anything like joking with this asshole. “Why did you do it, Vic? You never told me why.” He sighed and shifted. 

“You deserve an explanation. That’s why I came here, really,” Vic sighed, and he explained. 

“I thought I was lucky to be with that group of survivors until they started kidnapping others instead of letting them live with us. I didn’t eat anything but nettle soup for a long time when I realised what they were feeding us. Then I was starving. I still feel like there are people 

inside me, crawling about. I hate what I did. 

“Then they took you, and you were the only other person near my age I’d seen since the apocalypse started. And you were my friend, even though we were on opposite sides of that cage. I did like you, Bev. You’ve always been strong. But I was weak. And when I overhead the leader saying that he didn’t trust me, I got scared. So I made a plan. Like a complete idiot. At first, I was going to escape with you. Just like I promised you. I meant it when I promised it, not that that changes anything. But the thought of having to survive out there- with all those things around- I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t rely on myself like that, even if I knew exactly how to survive. It felt different, knowing how and actually doing it. I know now that I could’ve survived it, we could’ve survived it. I was a dumb kid. So instead of running away with you, I pretended you got away, and then I shot you. But I never wanted to shoot to kill. I had to shoot just enough so you wouldn’t necessarily die but the others chasing you would see I was loyal. 

“For years I’ve been convinced you died. Not necessarily because I shot you, but because this world is a nightmare. I’m glad you’re alive, for the record.”

“You’re still an asshole,” Bev told him, rubbing at her eyes. “You’ve always been too smart. It means you overthink things. And being a smart overthinker means you’re a coward who knows exactly how to hide. Asshole.”   
“Hey, I’m not denying any of that,” Vic replied softly. “Especially the bit about me being smart.”   
“You’re still a dumbass, anyway,” she reminded him. “And I can’t forgive you, yet. I can’t pretend I’ve wanted you alive all this time. But I guess I’m glad you are. If only because you can make it up to me now. Help us, Vic. You can leave with us, like you should’ve left with me five years ago.” Vic was tense now, and Bev almost screamed in despair. “You won’t, though. Will you?”   
“I can’t leave everyone here behind, Bev,” Vic said. “I love Reg, at the least. And I can temper Henry and Patrick for him and for everyone else. And if people get hurt or sick, it’s only me who can fix it. I would just let you out, but they’d know it was me.”   
“Would they?” Bev challenged. “Because I don’t think they know you at all. They didn’t think you could shoot someone- and I can attest to the fact you’ve shot at least one person. They don’t know you’d do anything to survive, then. I mean, for fuck’s sake, Vic- do you really think you’ll survive long here anyway? They like you now, so what? You can’t actually tell me they’re good to you.”

“They’re as good as they can be,” Vic argued weakly. “They won’t kill me.”

“They’re limiting you,” she continued. “You’ll get tired of that soon enough. And you’ll lash out. And you might be quick, and you might be clever- but they’ll kill you easily once they can’t pretend you love them anymore.

“You don’t really know me at all, Beverly,” Vic said coldly, standing and turning away. “Don’t think you can predict my behaviour.” 

“Live in denial then!” Bev shouted as he retreated, rousing the others from their uneasy, nightmare-plagued sleep. “I’ll fucking come back and haunt you, Vic, I swear it!”

“Hey,” Ben said, holding her shoulder gently as she glared at the door. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Bev smiled at him tearfully. “We’re just all going to die here.”

Nobody slept again. Then the King of Tartarus rolled up with his queens in tow and stared at them through the bars. 

“Vic saw a zombie trying to break through our fences while on watch last night,” Henry Bowers told them. And there was a guilty look in Vic’s eye, so Bev knew he had impulsively lied to get revenge on her for calling out the truth. He looked so self-loathing Bev couldn’t even hate him for it. “So it’s a lucky day for one of you. You get to meet a god. The only god there is left.”

“And you get to die,” Patrick added. “Goodie!” 

“Maybe I dreamt it,” Vic said. Bev supposed it was the stupidest thing to ever leave his mouth. 

“Don’t go soft on us now, Vicky,” Patrick teased. “If you were that good, you’d never have told us about the zom.”

“Leave him alone,” Belch or Reg or whatever his name was frowned, stepping in front of Vic. He was a man of few words. He made Bev think of Solomon Grundy or Frankenstein’s Monster or the Hulk or something. But she could see why Vic apparently loved him, if this massive guy was soft on him- and clearly he was. 

“Mercy, lover boy,” Patrick raised his hands in mock defeat. “Come on, take one of the mouthier ones. Redhead.”   
“Yes,” Bowers agreed, and Bev was pretty sure in that moment that Patrick was closer to being the king than Bowers was. Then she realised what was happening and she was horrified. 

Ben watched in stunned silence as they pulled Bev out of the cell, unable to scream or move, whilst Stan rocked against the wall and the others shouted and resisted. Bev bit down on Bowers’ hand, which had been closing her jaw. She thought about her father as she attempted to fight, aiming a kick at Patrick. She thought about Ben, about how he had saved her life before he even knew her, and dashed for the door. Then Bowers hit her over the head, and she fell to the ground. They bound her arms and legs, then Patrick threw her over his shoulder. 

“Let me go!” She demanded. Patrick laughed and pretended to drop her. That made him laugh, so he did it again, and then once more. Then he tried to do it again and actually dropped it. 

“Oops,” he said flatly, picking her up again. She made eye contact with Vic, who seemed now very obviously seized with regret. It was so obvious that even Bowers and Patrick would have been able to see it through their deluded love had they been looking at him rather than the angry survivors still in the cell. 

“Wait,” Vic said. “Can I stay behind? There’s something going around, and I wanna do some check-ups. Make sure it’s not serious. Just in case I need to send people on medicine runs.”

“Whatever,” Bowers said, then kissed Vic on the cheek. The shorter man seemed like he was about to flinch, but he stopped himself. “Don’t get sick. Belch, stick behind in case someone tries something and he needs some muscle.” Belch simply nodded, and took a step closer to Vic, who appeared to lean into the proximity slightly and subtly enough to get away with it. 

“Come on,” Patrick said, eyeing Vic. It was clear he knew there had been no zombie, perhaps that he knew there was no Zombie God, but was eager enough to feed the zombie that was there. “Before It sends another one- or worse, a horde.” 

“Stay safe,” Vic told them, but really he told Bev. 

They put Bev in a truck, and she hated how well-supplied these people were despite their insanity and their cruelty. And she hated how close they had remained to Bob Gray after all, and how all of them had been too lost in their own problems to notice the tire tracks in the mud in the forest. She hated how Patrick maintained eye contact with her in mirror throughout that silent car ride. She hated that intrusive thought of breaking the mirror and stabbing Patrick in the neck with a shard. But she hated nothing more than the pure, undisguisable terror she felt as they parked the car and she was forced to see that house again.

They untied her legs to make her walk, but her knees shook and knocked together. Her eyes watered and she was chewing her lip so hard she felt the metallic pang of blood in her mouth. And she screamed- she screamed her throat raw. But she didn’t try to run or kick. She just screamed and she felt weak and helpless- like a child again. And wouldn’t she always be a child, in some ways always fifteen? She hated that. She hated so much and she was always so angry, and she thought Ben might help that when she met him but nobody could help that except herself. Only now she would never be able to learn how, and she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at Vic for it despite all her anger and despite it being his fault. 

Bev felt light-headed. The house was as they left it- raided, broken, stained with blood. And a telltale thump-and-drag and grunt reminded her of what she wished she could forget- she had killed a living being, a human. They all had, even if he’d deserved it. And now Bob Gray was one of them, like they’d all decided he deserved. And now that decision was going to kill her. It was funny. She thought they had escaped Bob Gray. This was a much more karmic end than the man had originally planned. Now he was just a hungry mindless thing back on his old diet, and she was food for him- or It, now- once more. It’s eyes were still that impossible bright blue. They seemed brighter now, glossy with death, and standing out like stars against the brown of rot. There was still paint smudged about It’s face, and even more blood by It’s mouth, now unintentionally placed. 

“Please don’t do this,” she begged, and she hated herself for it. “Please.” 

“It’s you or us,” Bowers said sternly. “And I don’t give two shits about you.” 

“Let her go!” A familiar voice interrupted. They all turned around, and she was glad not to face It anymore, and she was glad to face Vic, a gun in hand, pointed at the King of Tartarus, betrayed. She was even more glad to see to see Ben and the others standing behind him, looking rather ill. 

“Ben!” She cried out. 

“Let her go,” Vic repeated, “or I’ll kill you both.”

“You won’t,” Bowers laughed. “Pat, put her in-” The gun sounded. Everybody fell into a stunned silence as a body fell, hit right in the head. Bob Gray died again. It was interrupted by a low whistling. 

“Nice shot, pretty boy,” Patrick commented. “I’m actually a bit surprised. 

“Shut up,” Vic said, and Belch came to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. Bev ached for Ben’s touch again, for comfort. Vic’s hand shook. “Just shut up.”   
“What did you do? Now no one’s controlling them! They’ll kill us all- they’ll destroy Tartarus,” Bowers rambled madly, his eyes wide. 

“Let her go,” Vic repeated again, “you’re insane.”   
“Let her go,” Ben emphasised, and Bev stared blankly at him. He was not the same. Things kept changing. She didn’t know how to feel. She did know she couldn’t keep up with it. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”   
“And me,” Belch added. “It’s over.”   
“You’re not getting out of here alive if she dies,” Bill contributed. “You’ll be lucky to get out of here alive anyway.” Bev wondered if she was crying. She felt like she was crying. 

“We’re a bit outnumbered, Hank,” Patrick said quietly. Henry said nothing. “Well, I have been bored recently.”   
  


But as soon as he lunged he was gone; Belch hit him over the head with a baseball bat just once, not even at his full strength by far, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Bev scrambled forwards, and Ben undid the rope around her wrists. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

“No,” she answered, and couldn’t believe admitted it. 

“You won’t ruin things more,” Bowers yelled, going red. “You can’t do this to a king.”

“You’re not a king,” Mike said, taking the gun. “You’re not anything.” And he shot the King in the shoulder. His hands didn’t shake until afterwards, and they kept shaking as Stan gripped them. 

“Holy shit,” Richie blinked at the two unconcious bodies, and the dead Zombie God. “This house really brings out the worst in everyone.”   
“Then let’s get the fuck out,” Eddie suggested, and there was no hesitation there. “Before they wake up.” 

“We could kill them,” Ben suggested darkly. 

“Don’t,” Vic begged. “I don’t know. I can’t see them dead, somehow.” Belch took his hand and held it tightly. 

“I don’t want us to become killers again,” Stan voiced. “I’ll go crazy.”   
“We can become car thieves, though,” Bill said. “That’s one sexy truck.”   
“I can’t believe you fuck cars,” Richie laughed. And Bev saw how Ben’s head cleared of anger. 

Outside, everyone seemed a bit dumbfounded and uncertain. 

“You aren’t staying with them, are you?” Mike asked Vic and Belch. 

“I don’t have a death wish,” Vic replied. “But we won’t get in your way, don’t worry. I’m sorry I nearly got you killed again, Bev. You probably won’t see me again. It’s a big world, even if no one’s left in it.”

“But I want you to stay,” Bev said. “You told me once you’d do whatever it takes to survive. So I’ll kill you if you don’t come with.”   
“Well, I don’t want you to die, Vic,” Belch commented, offering a shy smile. “Guess we have to go.”   
“I’m not a good person,” Vic mumbled, pulling at one of his sleeves. 

“Neither am I,” Bev argued, remembering her anger. “No one is  _ good.  _ Good people are lies. Welcome to the grey area, Vic. Now survive. For me?” 

At the very least, Bev found, Vic was great at choosing out a nice set of rings for the wedding, and that made up for him being a bit of an asshole twice at least a little bit. Bev hadn’t really thought of herself as an extrovert, but even in these days she was finding that the times when she was least angry was when she was surrounded by Ben and everyone else, surrounded by people. So the zombie apocalypse ended up being somewhat therapeutic? Good for her, Bev decided. She didn’t choose that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! If you did not, please don't tell me. I'd like to not die inside!


End file.
